The First Season
by SallySorrell
Summary: After a long break from the Dick van Dyke Show fandom, I'm diving back in with a multi-chapter piece! I hope you'll enjoy a sort of prequel, depicting Buddy and Sally's much-deserved backstory as they sign on for The Alan Brady Show's first series. In this, I explore their beautiful friendship and undeniable chemistry. Please, please enjoy and share your thoughts with me.
1. Chapter 1

"Mr. Sorrell," Mel nudged his shoulder, indicating that he should stand. A _lady _had just entered the room. Buddy rolled his eyes, hoping Mel hadn't seen this, and made sure his hands were firm at his sides, as if tied there. He had the horrible habit of ruining things, and, seeing that this was his first week at work for _The Alan Brady Show_, he decided to try a little harder.

"This is Ms. Rogers, the other half of your writing team. Ms. Rogers, this is Mr. Sorrell..."

"Buddy." He said flatly, doing a bad job already.

The _lady_ tugged at a bow in her hair. His eyes didn't move. Mel shoved them closer, until they finally settled on shaking hands.

"D...Delighted to meet you..." Buddy sighed at his own attempts immediately.

Sally glanced vaguely to Mel, who stood behind her, inching toward the door as each awkward second passed.

"This is a comedy show, right?"

He nodded and slammed the door, reminding them that Alan still required a script at the end of the week, and was more than happy to try out a different set of writers should this latest recipe fail.

"What?" Sally set his hand down, back near his side, "Do I have food on my face or something?"

"No."

A silence eased into the space between them; the only thing that successfully distanced Buddy and Sally from each other.

"You wanna get started then, Mr. Sorrell?"

"Buddy. _Please_ call me Buddy. I don't like all that formal stuff."

"Sally."

They shook hands again, after they'd properly introduced themselves.

She found a ream of paper and a pen on what she deemed _her_ desk, looking comically desperate as her hand hovered. She wanted to at least _look_ like she could work.

"So, do you wanna get some work done? I mean, if he needs the script by Thursday for rehearsal, we should probably..."

"Yeah."

"Oh who am I kidding..." Sally didn't ask, but exhaled this, tossing down the pen and moving to sit on the couch beside Buddy, "What do I need to know about you before I work with you?"

"I figured you'd be a bit... shyer than that. What's to know?"

"Well," Sally glanced at his hands, folded nervously over one armrest, "If you're single, where you're from, if you've written anything for...?" She leaned casually onto his shoulder.

He relaxed. Sally seemed approachable, and her frequent smile assured him that she wasn't joking around. But there was a script still waiting to be composed.

"Long story, that first one."

"I got time."

"I guess I'm engaged."

She waited for more as they took turns breathing.

"Right. Is that the whole story?"

"Just the summary."

"Come _on_." she tapped on his shoulder until he continued.

"Maybe that's all of it. I don't know. She wants me to get a better job so we can afford to get married and live somewhere nicer... seems like nothing's good enough for her anymore."

"How long you been together?"

"It's embarrassing."

"No worse than me, honest."

"Let's talk about you." With a fake bit of drama, Buddy turned to face her. She played along, took her hand off of his shoulder, and commenced:

"Never married anybody." She clasped her hands and let them drift up and down to accompany her tone, "Never even _dated_ a fella, if that's what you wanna call it."

"The date or the fella?"

"That's funny." She shook her finger and smiled, "But it's true. And that's sad."

"And here we are writing a comedy show."

"Yeah, we'll get to it." She took a long breath, "I just was so excited about working in show biz when I was a girl. Wanted to sing and dance and all that, but I did so well in a typing class. I've been working wherever needs me just to get the bills paid. And _finally_, here I am on the bottom step of show business."

"Inspiring."

She tilted her head and huffed.

"Hey, at least you can type." He promised her, gently returning a nudge of her shoulder, "I'm lucky to get in O.K.C."

"What's that?"

"One keystroke a century."

Slight laughter gripped her face.

"That's good." Again, her finger shook in his direction. He copied this gesture and they both laughed.

After a bit of silence, she looked to find a clock on the wall. She checked it against Buddy's watch (he studied her as she leaned over to do so) and offered a muffled gasp.

"There goes a whole work day."

"It's barely five."

They looked at each other's eyes until they understood what they saw. Never would this be forgotten. From this point on, they were able to communicate strictly though blinks, glances, and swift motions of their brows.

"Where you going?" Buddy asked, failing to look away, "Have a date?"

"I was hoping so."

She saw the worry on his face before he was able to form a vocal answer. Which, after a minute's arrangement, was a snappy rendition of: "What?"

"Well, we wasted a day of working on talking. So the least we can do is work on it over dinner... I'll buy."

"Can't argue with that." He stood and made a complete fool of himself as he rushed to open the door. She stared as she passed by, fingernails tapping an antsy rhythm on her clutch purse. Her teeth crept barely out from beneath her glossy lips, and her hair glimmered when the streetlights managed to grasp it from through the window-shades.

"I'll, uhh, drive."

"So I can spend my cab-fare too?"

This phrase, combined with the genial fluttering of her eyelids, conveyed; "You're driving me home, too, y'know."

Marveling at their silent understanding of one another, they nodded all the way to the parking lot.

* * *

**Author's Note: So what do you think? How are the characterizations? Dialogue okay? What will happen next? Also, if you're one to listen to music while reading, I fully intend to provide a playlist for the complete story. This chapter, in my opinion, is most thoroughly enjoyed while listening to "All For You" by Sister Hazel. Carry on, now. Enjoy your day!**


	2. Chapter 2

Both were immensely surprised at the products of their evening. Buddy was impressed to find that they'd actually managed to work on the script (and had done some quality work, too) between lengthy and philosophical chats. Sally was pleased with herself for discovering someone so likeable. What a perfect co-worker. She'd never find another one like him, she was sure. She almost felt bad, knowing she'd need to wear him down for a _real _date eventually.

At a later hour than she would otherwise prefer, Sally pulled on her gloves and stepped from Buddy's car.

Simultaneously, they thanked each other, apologized, then promptly asked if they'd meet again tomorrow. Sally cleared her throat while Buddy explained that they worked in the same office, so it was pretty likely they'd meet again. He chuckled nervously at the whole situation.

"Same room, Sal."

"Oh." She tossed her hand, accenting the sarcasm, "Silly me."

They met in their office the next day, as anyone could predict. Buddy spread his possessions across the desk Sally left for him, in an attempt to make it look 'messy, like home.' Sally rubbed obsessively at a scratch on the 'D' key of her typewriter, groaning each time she accidentally pressed it onto the page.

"Hey, Sal... all joking aside..." started Buddy, after he grew bored of hearing the keys click.

Sally cut him off: "Joking aside? We haven't even written one yet."

His years of experience in the comedy field let him continue, undeterred: "Thanks for dinner last night. That was a nice change."

"Do ya normally have breakfast?"

He moved to the couch and slumped over what was now _his_ side armrest.

"I wish. That's the one thing Pickles can cook."

"Sorry I made ya miss _that_. Cooked pickles sound like a pretty good start to the day..."

"No, no. _Her_ name's Pickles." He waited for Sally to look shocked, but had to settle for disgusted, "Not really. But that's what everyone calls her..."

Sally found a clean sheet of paper and fed it carefully to the typewriter.

"I got'cha." She looked purposely away, focusing more on the blank sheet than anyone would ever need to.

"Wow. Thought I complained about her so much last night... her name _must'a_ come up."

"Nah, didn't catch it. Maybe next time."

"So you'd want to go for dinner again?"

"Are you kidding? It's that or I'm gonna fix tuna salad for me 'n' the cat. Again. Third time in a week."

"Poor thing."

Sally looked quizzically over, which Buddy countered with: "The cat."

A halfhearted laugh surfaced as she typed, instantly inspired.

"That's a good enough idea for me. At least until dinner, when the real work gets done."

"We're pathetic." He remained sitting and watched her type, not even trying to remedy his diagnosis. Which he was perfectly capable of doing. Instead, he pondered Pickles and couldn't even recall how he met her.

Sally, after a quick study of his posture, sensed this:

"How'd you and Pickles get together, anyway?"

"She was a showgirl..."

"What's she now, a show-horse?"

As they now favored, they wagged their fingers toward each other, flashing a sly smile.

"Don't give me ideas." He stopped himself before making things worse. Finally, he did something right. Well, everything seemed right when he was with Sally. Until Pickles was dragged once again into the pit of conversation, "Y'know, Sal, you're really great to talk to."

She turned her feelings over in her mouth awhile before letting them out; "I don't have a joke to add to that..."

"No worries," he picked up her expression and swatted it playfully away, "I can cater jokes for two."

"Oh, boy." Her eyes tipped to the ceiling, offering a toast to whatever jokes may await them, "Guess I've been trying too hard again. Just trying to show I can type up _comedy_. Not _just_ type."

"Hey. You heard Curly. You're the other half of my writing team. Sounds equal to me."

"Curly?"

"Mel Cooley... Curly. As close as I could get."

Neither of them could describe the phenomenon that brought them both to sit on the empty office chair. Buddy on the seat, Sally on the armrest. She stared down at him while he tried to form a response.

"What'd you feel like for dinner, Buddy?"

"Ah, anything's fine."

"You're right. You being there makes all the difference, anyway."

They smiled at each other. Mel crept in through the door, waving a packet of papers and brandishing a queasy frown.

"Am I... interrupting something?"

Sally stood up first, brushing at her skirt. A favorite nervous habit that always seemed to clear the mind of her interrogators. Looked like it worked on Mel, too:

"I stopped by to see how the next sketch is coming along."

"What's that in your hand, then?" Buddy watched as the pages flipped about.

"Oh, the sketch you turned in yesterday. Alan loved it. We've got costumes ordered already, and we put out a casting call for the guest part. It's coming together smoothly."

"Well thanks, Mr. Cooley." Sally collected the compliment and returned to her station by the typewriter, but refused to sit.

"I mean it," he proceeded, watching skeptically as Buddy paced the room, "I couldn't have asked for a better set of writers."

"You didn't ask much." Sally laughed at herself and promptly bit at her fingernails to deter any further comments.

"Well, keep it up with fresh sketches like that one, and I think you've got a good chance at renewing your contracts. Maybe even as a team, next season. Alan would like that."

She leaned over Buddy's shoulder. He inspected the floor. Or his shoes. Or anything that _wasn't_ the living, breathing, beautiful human being that stood beside him.

"A team, told ya." He said this softly, intending only Sally to hear it. Really, he just wanted to assure himself that he believed it. Still unsure.

Mel wouldn't leave. His praise was too specific and sincere to warrant a short visit:

"And that piece near the end, about the couple having the romantic dinner... that was fantastic! Alan said it gave the show a new, identifiable, _real_ quality. He's very excited to perform that one. And of course, the one about the housewife and her, well, _detached_ husband is funny too. The slapstick is a nice change of pace... Honestly, I could go on forever."

"You won't, if you want us to get any work done." Buddy tried not to sound rude, but failed. Mel nodded politely and left, significantly quicker than he'd arrived, huffing as he slammed the door.

"You didn't call him Curly." Sally nudged him, "But that wasn't bad."

"That was just the first show. He hasn't done anything real annoying yet. Except that he exists."

"I'll never understand you," mused Sally, standing on one foot and crossing the other. Buddy noticed the shift in weight and glanced up, "But I like you."

"More than I can say for Curly."


End file.
